L'Chaim
by MistWraith
Summary: You know, Sammy, I really hate your friends!" The thought rolled around in Dean's head as he tumbled, cold and wet, into what seemed to be a river of mud. T for some language.


**Disclaimer**: This all belong to Eric Kripke and WB and they won't let me have any of it, the greedy--uh, nice people.

**A/N**: This is really embarrassing: this story appeared in a zine and I wanted to credit it, but I can't remember which one! Obviously, time to power up on the gingko. Hope you like it.

* * *

_**L'Chaim**_

_**by Marcia Brin**_

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**Right now**

_You know, Sammy, I __really__ hate your friends!_

The thought rolled around in Dean's head as he tumbled, cold and wet, into what seemed to be a river of mud.

* * *

**Dean remembers the halcyon days of yore--oh, alright: he's only thinking about a few hours earlier. Happy now?**

They had checked into yet another cheap, rundown motel in yet another Bumfuck, USA. Though, Dean had to admit, the surrounding landscape was beautiful enough: rugged Western terrain and foothills for the Rockies. He yawned and dumped his duffel bag on the floor. They had had a couple of rough hunts, and they were both more than a little battered, bruised and exhausted. And the few months before that had not exactly been a picnic, either: Dad dying – Dean's mind skittered away, knowing that if he lingered there he would start to drown again in the guilt – and the Demon playing with Sam's head, leaving him unsure about his own visions.

They _really_ needed a few days off to re-charge.

Dean had heard his stomach grumble and realized he was starving. Okay, not exactly an unusual occurrence for him. Once during Shark Week on Discovery – Dean _loved_ Shark Week, but he sometimes wondered if there wasn't really a demon behind those dead, black eyes – he had heard sharks were hungry twenty-four hours a day.

He had _so_ been a shark in another life.

So he had no objection when Sam, also yawning hugely, had suggested getting something to eat at the diner across the road, before sacking out. One look at the outside of the diner told Dean that Bumfuck got more tourists than he had assumed: It was decorated to be every Easterner's idea of a Western eatery.

A small bell chimed musically as they entered. The standing sign said, "Please seat yourself," so they'd started for an empty booth, only to stop when someone called out excitedly, "Sam? Sam Winchester?"

Sam had looked around, caught sight of a young woman approaching them in a rush, opened his Puppy Dog Eyes of Power ™ and exclaimed, "Janet!"

This had been followed by the usual inane – at least, in Dean's considered opinion – round of "I can't believe it!", "What are the odds?", "You look great!" and the ever-popular, "What have you been doing with yourself?"

Of course, the correct answer for Janet Thurman would have been, "I've been getting turned as a vampire and I'm busy setting you both up now to get captured by Luthor's ex, Kate, tortured and then eaten."

Had she said that, Dean was pretty damn sure neither he nor Sam would have taken her up on her offer to use her family's cabin, just one town over. Janet was just coming from staying there a week, she'd said, and on her way back to the big city and her job. The cabin had electricity, indoor plumbing, a full linen closet and would be just perfect for them. Stay as long as you like.

Lying vamp bitch.

They had thought about how bone-weary they were and a week or two of sleeping late, kicking back and chilling out had sounded great. Sam had accepted for the both of them and they had watched her disappear in their rearview mirror, after checking out of the motel. Or so they thought.

Later, Dean would regret not having accidentally put the Impala in reverse.

The directions were perfect and the drive up the mountain, really beautiful. Dean had felt tension he had not even realized was there drain from his muscles. Glancing over, he could see the same thing happening to Sam, the drawn look leaving his younger brother's face to be replaced by an increasingly happy smile. It was good to see Sam relax a little.

Besides, a happy Sammy was a non-pain-in-the-ass Sammy.

They had stopped once on the way to the cabin. At one point, the dirt road turned, the woods dropped off to the right and a breathtaking vista hove into view. By unspoken mutual consent, they pulled over and got out.

Leaning against the car, they just stood and stared. The Rockies were always spectacular, and now in the Fall, with the variety of colors – some green, some brown, amidst blazing reds and oranges and yellows—they were beyond stunning.

They had stood in silence and perfect amity, watching dark thunderclouds gather over the distant mountains and move slowly in their direction, with flashes of lightning causing the clouds to flare from within, until Dean realized that if they stayed much longer they would end up soaked to the bone and the fall mountain air was turning increasingly chilly.

He had tapped Sam on the arm. "We'd better get going before we get caught in that."

It was just starting to pour when they had reached the cabin. They hurried to the trunk. Sam had grabbed his duffel and laptop and dashed for the door. As he turned the key Janet had given them and began to open the door, Dean had caught a flash of movement at one window. Focusing on it, he was positive he saw a pale face for an instant.

Sure, it could have been a traveler taking refuge from the storm, but how had he gotten into the locked building without damaging anything? Alarm bells had begun to sound. Loudly.

"Sam!" he had shouted, trying to be heard over the rumble of thunder and the roaring wind. "Stop! There's someone in the cabin!"

The door flew open, even as Sam had turned to look at his brother, and Dean could see several figures appear. One of them caught Sam a glancing blow with a stout walking stick and Sam had staggered and was immediately pulled into the cabin. A lone figure stood in the doorway and Dean had recognized her immediately.

Kate. _Fuck!_

Every instinct had screamed for him to run to Sam's rescue, but two male vampires came racing out past Kate and his head knew he probably would end up captured himself if he did not put some distance between them; he would not even make it into the Impala before they reached him. He had not even had time to grab the machete before he had to slam the trunk shut – no point in letting them see the weaponry in there – and race for the deep woods.

"Winchester!" Kate had yelled after him. "If you don't give yourself up, we're going to hurt your brother!"

Yeah, right. As if you aren't going to hurt him either way, bitch! If I don't get him out.

He had heard the sounds of the two vamps crashing through the underbrush some distance behind him. They had obviously figured out he had no intention of walking back into their hands.

The rain had gotten heavier and it had been harder to find his way in the increasing gloom. He had stumbled once over a virtually invisible tree root, going down to his hands and knees. Scrambling up, he had noticed that the sounds of pursuit were further behind. Apparently, the bloodsuckers were having as much trouble as he was.

Damn good thing _real_ vampires did not have all the freaky abilities fictions gave them. Stronger, yes, but not the incredible super strength Buffy's vampires had. No flying, either, or night vision or turning into bats.

As he ran, he tried to force some coherent plan of action. Janet had said there were four rooms: kitchen, living room/dining room and two bedrooms. He assumed she would not have any reason to lie about _that_. Unlike her other little, itsy bitsy, teeny weeny "Vampire? Who, me?" lie.

_Damn. I was really looking forward to having my own room, too. Sammy's snores could shake down a mountain range. I'm __so__ going to nail her bony ass for getting my hopes up!_

Unless the vampires had gotten a lot smarter and found a way to silently move up ahead of him, he seemed to have lost his pursuers. It provided a momentary respite but it did not solve his primary problem: both his brother and his baby – _with_ his arsenal and explosives (because, hell, blowing a vampire to tiny bits _should_ kill the damn thing, too!) – were in Kate's hands.

And he promised dire retribution if Kate put a scratch on either one of them.

Which, while it made him fell better, did not help him to figure out a way to carry out his vow. If vampires had turned out to be like the ones in fiction, he would have had an armory growing all around him. He could have just sharpened up a branch or two into a spear, and staked the whole blood-thirsty – literally – bunch of them. But, no, _real_ vampires had to be _difficult_ about it. He seriously doubted he could make a decent machete out of a tree branch.

He doubted vampires could resurrect if they were burned to ashes, but right now, they were in the same cabin as his baby brother, so burning it to the ground was _not_ a viable option, despite its obvious appeal. Shaking his head, he had realized he was going to have to stop, take some time, think things through, even though every part of him was shouting at him to _do_ something, anything, to get Sam free.

A massive bolt of lightning sizzled overhead, followed by a roar of thunder, and then pouring rain. _Another_ reason to find shelter. He began to work his way through the forest, pulling his jacket tighter against the downpour.

Fifteen minutes later, he had been thoroughly drenched and achingly cold. The late fall mountain air had been brisk even before the storm and now the temperature could not have been more than forty degrees. Dean knew if he did not find a way to warm up soon, he was in serious trouble.

His foot had met empty air and he had windmilled his arms to keep from falling over the edge. Cursing, he brushed rain out of his eyes and looked down. A small ravine cut its way through the woods.

_Way to go, asshole! All you need now is a broken leg. Pay attention!_

Fate was not to be denied, however. Weakened by the deluge, a section of the edge of the ravine, including where Dean was standing, gave way.

* * *

**Dean happily (or not) jumps back to right now**

_You know, Sammy, I __really__ hate your friends!_

Dean found himself in a mini-mud slide. He tumbled down the side of the ravine, landing with a breath-stealing thud. Fortunately, the bottom of the ravine was already a morass and he was fairly sure, though he ached all over, that he had not broken anything.

His relief was short-lived. As he started to roll over, he heard a loud groan from above. Glancing up, he saw a tree, its roots no longer anchored to solid ground, tilt over and spear downward, top first. Dean yelped and tried to move out of the way, but the mud hampered his efforts. He threw his arms up to protect his head.

The tree slammed to a stop across Dean's right leg, which had been stretched out. A cry of pain escaped him before he could clamp down on it, but he bit back anything more. No point in letting anyone, or _anything_, know he was hurt.

_And in serious trouble!_ There was no doubt in his mind his ankle was broken. He had already been chilled. Now he was stuck in a pit filled with not-much-above-freezing mud. He did not have to worry about the vamps finding him, much less dying of thirst: hypothermia would undoubtedly take him down well before morning rolled around.

His shivering was growing worse – at least he _was_ still shivering – and it was draining his strength to keep his above the mud, which in turn was intent on sucking him down. For an instant, despair threatened to overwhelm him.

I'm sorry, Sammy. I blew it.

He had accepted the idea he would not die in bed of old age, but he had always intended Sam to live to see Sam's great grandchildren.

What he had _not_ expected was dying in a damned mud hole like some freaking sabretooth tiger. His eyes suddenly narrowed.

Mud…

* * *

Sam had been trying to work his restraints, so far to no effect. They resisted both fraying-by-rubbing _and_ his not inconsiderable strength. His captors had batted him around, but had thus far restrained from doing any snacking. He was pretty sure they were waiting until they captured Dean; they were seeking to maximize their "fun."

Sam had little hope Dean had taken off. It would have been the practical thing to do: Dean was devoid of weapons and outnumbered. If Dean found his way down the mountain, he might be able to spin a story about the two of them being jumped at a friend's cabin sufficient to bring the sheriff and a deputy or two to the rescue. But that would take at least until tomorrow, even assuming Dean could figure out how to find the road again if he had been chased deep into the woods by the vamps.

Thing is, there was no way Dean would head off of the mountain, not while he knew the longer he remained at liberty, the more likely it would be the vampires would lose patience and make Sam the appetizer, entrée and dessert. No, his older brother would be busy both trying to find a means to rescue Sam _and_ taking the blame for the entire fiasco, even though it was Sam's _former_ – he was _definitely_ taking her name out of his address book! – friend who set them up.

Now, the storm had started and Sam was becoming increasingly worried for his brother. There were times when the ferocity and power of the tempest rattled the cabin itself. Dean was out there, unsheltered before the fury of the deluge, with the temperature dropping precipitously.

Dean was in _big_ trouble.

Sam was not alone in coming to that conclusion. Kate moved into his line of sight.

"Seems your brother has a bit of a problem. It's getting pretty rough out there. Too bad. I wanted to make you each watch while we played with the other." She gave him a nasty smile. "Maybe he chose to save himself over you, huh? Maybe he doesn't really care about you all that much."

_I only wish Dean were concerned about saving himself!_

"Never going to happen. Why? Did Luther think about dumping _you_? Not that I'd blame him much."

Her face darkened and he saw the kick coming before he felt it connect with his ribs. He grunted with pain.

"Hey," he finally forced out between breaths, "I'm impressed you could get your foot up that high. Vampire aerobics?"

This time she backhanded him. _Keep this up, genius, and you won't have to worry about being nibbled to death. You have definitely been spending too much time around your brother!_

A male vampire surged to his feet abruptly, glaring at Sam, then Kate. "Enough," he growled. "His damn brother's gone. Either he ran like a scared rabbit and left his brother here to die, or he's hung around and the storm and cold will take care of him. Doesn't matter. I'm hungry and I don't feel like waiting any longer."

There was a murmur of agreement among the rest of Kate's nest. After a moment, Kate nodded slowly and Sam's stomach lurched. Being slowly and painfully drained of blood by a bunch of ravenous vampires was not in his Top Ten Ways to Go. The male who had spoken was the first to reach Sam. He grabbed a handful of Sam's hair – _Guess you were right about getting it cut, Dean. I'm sorry… and this is not your fault_ – and the second set of teeth dropped.

That was as far as he got. With the sound of snapping hinges, the door literally blew off and flew into the cabin's main room. The vampires whirled around, astonished. Sam, though grateful for the reprieve, was no less surprised.

For a moment, everything seemed to stop, the very air crackling with tension, then a massive figure loomed in the now-open doorway. It was human-shaped, but the facial features were crude and it was a shade of solid brown all over. On its forehead, symbols Sam could not quite make out blazed with golden fire.

It stepped into the room, carrying someone in its arms. Sam gasped as he realized it was Dean being carried, but then he noticed his brother was moving and, in fact, speaking animatedly to the creature. In response to whatever Dean was saying, the huge figure gently put Dean down on a wooden bench-like two-seater against one of the cabin walls. It then turned and, with a roar, plowed into the vampires.

Sam appreciated the numerical superiority this thing afforded the Winchesters, but as decapitation was the only known way to kill a vampire, he wasn't sure if the creature's great physical strength would be enough. As he watched, the creature grabbed one of the vampires, who struggled futilely in its hold, then grasped the vamp's head and, with a sickening pop, _tore_ it off.

Sam blinked, both horrified and impressed. _Okay, ripping their heads off might work just as well as a machete!_

Sam stared at the thing, with its half-formed features and mud-colored, oddly hardened skin. He straightened and craned his neck to get a better look at the flaming symbols. They confirmed his guess.

Dean had brought a golem!

The creature continued to tear the vampires apart as if they were made of paper. Sam wondered briefly at what it said about him that he could watch the carnage and be relatively unmoved, except to utter a vehement "damn" when he noticed Kate slip past the golem, which was dangling a vampire torso in one massive hand, and out the cabin door. In an instant, she was lost in the night.

Great. We're going to have to fight this same fight again.

After the last remaining vampire was dead, the golem stopped abruptly and stood stock still, its mandate having expired. Dean said something softly and the golem moved silently to where Sam was sitting. With no discernible effort at all, it broke the restraints holding Sam in the chair. With a groan, Sam stood up, shaking legs and arms to get circulations going again. Though he was sure the golem was completely under Dean's control – Sam ran the last few days over in his mind to make sure he had not ticked his older brother off recently – he sidled past the unmoving figure and hurried over to Dean.

The latter was propped up on the bench, his right leg extended in front of him, a grimace of pain on his face. Sam winced when he caught a glimpse of Dean's ankle; it was obvious from the angle of his foot relative to the leg that the ankle was broken. Dean was fairly well caked with mud, with only the center of his chest, his nose, mouth and eyes free of goo.

"Geez, Dean, what happened to you?" Sam knelt by the two-seater, giving Dean a critical once over, checking for other possible injuries.

"Before or after the edge of the ravine turned into a mudslide, I ended up in a river of mud and a tree fell on me?" Dean asked testily.

Sam's lips twitched but he was pretty sure outright laughing would result in more than just the glare he was receiving now. Sam decided Dean could not be _too_ badly injured if annoyance at his younger brother was his predominant emotion.

He changed tack. "Dean, a _golem_? How?"

Dean rolled his eyes and huffed exasperatedly. "Weren't you listening just now? I landed in a ravine full of mud!"

Sam was pretty sure that if the back of his head had not been out of reach, Dean would have slapped it by now.

"The mud part I got. Last time I checked, though, it takes more than that to create a golem."

Dean shrugged. "Joshua taught me the ritual. You form the figure out of mud. Well, okay, purified clay is best, but if you don't have it, you can play with the ritual, then animate it with the symbols and the words."

"What?" Sam was flabbergasted. "When? I don't remember that!"

"Of course not," Dean said with a smirk. "You were too busy being pissy. It was when we stayed those three months in Kentucky. That whole bunch of 'haints'? Took Dad and me ages to track down each spirit's bones. Joshua stopped by and stayed for a couple of weeks" – at Sam's nod, he continued – "helped us out and taught me some stuff. He's Jewish, you know. Well, kinda lapsed, but knows the stuff real well.

"_You_ were all up in arms about some history essay contest at school. Remember? You didn't want to hear about the haints, locked yourself in your room working on the essay and you were barely civil to Joshua. Think you finished second in the contest, though."

Now that Dean had jogged his memory, Sam could remember the time fairly well. He felt a twinge of guilt at his totally uncivil behavior to Dean's old friend, to whom he owed a bucket load of thanks for giving them Roy Le Grange's name.

"In retrospect," Sam said with a slight smile, "the essay contest doesn't seem as important as learning how to make a golem."

Dean laughed and then winced, though his grin remained. "That's my boy. I knew you would come around eventually."

He looked over at the golem and spoke quietly again. The figure moved to Dean's side, carefully picked him up and headed out through the opening where the front door had stood. The golem came to a halt beside the Impala. Sam hurried forward and opened the door to the back seat and the golem placed Dean inside.

Dean murmured something in Hebrew – Sam had not even known Dean had any knowledge of the language; he wondered how extensive Joshua's lessons had been and he suspected they had lasted way beyond the couple of weeks Joshua had stayed with them. How much more of his brother's life did he know nothing about? – then Dean reached out and carefully erased the first of the glowing symbols. The golem stood for a moment longer then, before Sam could even blink, it crumbled into a pile of dried mud.

Sam glanced in the rearview mirror at his brother. "What did you say? Why did it turn back into mud?"

"I told it, it had done well and could rest." Dean's voice was odd to Sam's ears, with his usual sarcasm replaced by a quiet dignity and a somber tone. "Then I rubbed away the first letter. The original words was 'emeth', which means 'truth.' Without the first letter, it becomes 'meth', the Hebrew word for 'death.' The golem reverts to clay."

Dean fell silent for a moment. "I wonder if it could ever get a soul – you know, if it stayed alive long enough – and learn to think for itself."

"It's just clay. Or, in this case, mud," Sam said gently.

"According to the Bible, so are we, Sammy. Do I have the right to take the chance away?"

Sam checked the mirror again. A brooding expression, more commonly found on _his_ face, had settled over his older brother's features, and a small sigh escaped Sam's lips. There was sarcastic Dean and pissed off Dean and seven-year old Dean and hunter Dean and lethal Dean and way-too-protective Dean and (not nearly enough) happy Dean. Experience had taught him, though, that the rare philosophic Dean was the one most guaranteed to drive him crazy. Dean only waxed philosophical over weighty issues, the ones for which Sam never had a satisfactory answer.

On the other hand, a brooding Dean was a _quiet_ Dean, and Sam was willing to wrestle with the question of whether a golem could become real if it kept Blue Oyster Cult away from his eardrums.

_And_ kept Dean from noticing that Sam was heading for the clinic they had passed on the way into town.

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**A/N**: So, how'd I do?


End file.
